


Observe The Correct Procedure At All Times

by goldenrod



Category: Castle
Genre: Blow Jobs, F/M, Hand Jobs, Handcuffs, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, Porn Battle, Roleplay, Uniforms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-13
Updated: 2012-02-13
Packaged: 2017-10-31 02:13:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/338755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldenrod/pseuds/goldenrod
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Richard Castle is under arrest. When the arresting officer is Kate Beckett, however, this is not necessarily a bad thing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Observe The Correct Procedure At All Times

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Porn Battle XIII (prompts: role-play, necktie, handcuffs, with a hint of 'blowjobs').
> 
> Feedback and constructive criticism welcome and greatly appreciated; enjoy!

  
Richard Castle is under arrest.

This is, he has to admit, not entirely unexpected or much of a surprise. He is, it must be said, as guilty as sin. He’s not too worried, however, since he’s pretty sure that this isn’t going to be going to court or anything -- since if it did, he’s fairly certain his lawyers will be able to argue that the arresting officer being both (a) his girlfriend and (b) completely naked except for an NYPD uniform hat, a necktie and a black plastic belt (that sits _very_ well on her hips, by the way) completely invalidates the charges.

He’s always had a thing for women in uniform. And _out_ of uniform. Turns out, Kate Beckett is _very_ good at compromises.

Apparently, his crime is so heinous that it demands a strip search. (Castle has previously been led to believe that this means the _suspect_ gets stripped, not the officer, but he’s certainly not complaining.) This means that Kate is slowly unbuttoning and removing his shirt, his pants, running her hands down his chest, leaving no inch of him unexplored. She is a very thorough police officer, Kate Beckett, and does not believe in half-measures.

“Oh, Kate...”

“Quiet.” She glares at him, exactly as she would if he _were_ some drug-dealer she’d pulled over on the street. She is also _very_ good at sexual roleplay and keeping in character. Either that, or she ended up arresting some _very_ turned on perps when back in uniform.

(Or both, of course. This is Kate Beckett we’re talking about, this is hardly an either-or thing.)

“But -”

“Do you need your rights explained to you again, Mr. Castle?”

Oh my. Oh my oh my. He's tempted to say 'yes', but he barely survived the first time. Seriously, he’s not as young as he used to be.

“No.”

“So you are aware of your right to remain silent?”

“Very much so, yes.”

“Then _quiet_.”

Yes, ma’am, Castle thinks to himself.

“And hands where I can see them.”

Oops. Apparently they’ve been wandering closer to her. It’s hard to blame them, really, but Castle smiles sheepishly and raises them up, before letting them drop back on the pillow above his head.

Apparently satisfied regarding his cooperation, Officer Beckett resumes patting him down. This appears to involve removing his pants. Normally, under such circumstances, Castle would question this, but she seems to know what she’s doing. And once his pants are removed, she appears _very_ interested in what he’s been concealing (as, Castle believes, she should be).

“And what,” she purrs, giving the object in question a gentle squeeze, sending a jolt running right through him, “do we have here?”

“A _very_ deadly weapon,” Castle responds seriously. It is, of course, a crime to be carrying a concealed weapon, and he must be punished.

The corny line manages to break character for a moment -- it’s Kate who looks back at him for a moment, with an amused-despite-herself smirk and an affectionate roll of her eyes, before the shutters come back down and it’s Officer Beckett again.

“Do you have a permit for this, Mr. Castle?”

“No. I wasn’t aware I needed one.” But ignorance is no excuse; punish me, Officer Beckett, _punish_ me.

Something _very_ exciting flashes in Officer Beckett’s eyes.  

“Then I’ll have to take it into evidence.”

Oh, goodie. Goodie goodie goodie. Because there is a procedure to be followed when taking something into evidence, it must be bagged and tagged and processed, and Castle _loves_ it when Officer Beckett follows procedure. She’s _very_ good at it.

First of all, the item in question must be bagged. Which means it needs to be carefully prepped and handled. Castle’s done his research on this procedure (and, it has to be said, has enjoyed himself immensely while doing so), so he knows what’s coming, and knows the danger of mishandling evidence. And Officer Beckett didn’t get to where she is today by mishandling evidence.

First, she delicately examines it closely from all angles, fingers gently stroking and examining and probing, sending jolts surging through him each time. Then, she grips it, squeezes again, again, firmly, provoking a deep, satisfied groan to burst from him, rumbling through him all the way through him. She shoots a sharp look at him -- the suspect, unless questioned, should remain silent at all times -- but doesn’t stop. Castle bites his lip, tries to keep it in, but good _Christ_ she doesn’t make it easy.  

The preliminary tests are done, it seems. Officer Beckett looks up at him, evaluating, considering, and then an eyebrow quirks upwards in that dangerous way that would get him instantly hard if he wasn’t already and the corner of her mouth twitches. 

And then, she touches her lips to the tip, flicks her tongue out, so soft and moist and gentle, before taking him in her mouth.

The taste test. Castle _loves_ the taste test. It’s not part of standard procedure, only occurs on certain occasions when the arresting officer deems it appropriate, for particularlynaughty suspects, and apparently he’s been very, _very_ naughty. He closes his eyes, leans back into the bed, bites his lip as she performs the test rigorously, like the good cop she is, not wanting to make a sound in case she hears and changes her mind, trying not even to breathe.

After what is both too long and not long enough, like a gunshot, she clicks her fingers, gestures at him. There’s a condom on the table beside the bed; immediately, Castle grabs it and throws it to her, watching as she swiftly tears it out the wrapper and, delicately, rolls it down the shaft with practiced, expert fingers. Technically, she’s not supposed to allow him to get involved; as a detained suspect, he’s not permitted to interfere, in case he corrupts the chain of evidence. But she can’t do everything by herself, and as a detained suspect he is _also_ supposed to follow her commands.

Tagged. Bagged. Now, he has to be processed.

She looks at him, and there’s something warring in her eyes, the iron control of Officer Beckett at war with burning, raging desire. She wants this, and he wants her, wants her so bad he can practically taste her. She lunges over and kisses him, rough and passionate, her tongue warring with his, and he can taste himself on her lips.

“I’m taking you in, Mr. Castle,” she breathes, and he’s almost shocked to hear how ragged her voice is sounding, rough with desire and lust. “Stay perfectly still. You’re under arrest.”

She sits up, clambering over him, straddling him, easing herself onto him. She closes her eyes, exhales as he penetrates her, her hands beginning to wander over his chest as she takes a moment to just enjoy the feeling of him inside of her. And he just drinks in the sight above him, tries to make note of every detail he can with his writer’s mind. Her body, lithe yet muscular, an athlete’s body. The dark blue tie, nestling between her breasts. her hair, tumbling in waves around her face and shoulder from underneath the brim of the hat. Her face, so alight with pleasure, with longing.

God, she’s beautiful. So beautiful.

And then she opens her eyes and meets his, and God, the fire in them, he almost comes right there and then. Officer Beckett is looking down at her, powerful and dominant and in control, but there’s Kate as well, burning with lust and love and longing.

And he can’t restrain himself any longer; he knows it’s against the rules, against the procedure, but he has to _touch_ her, has to _feel_ her in his arms. Before she can react he’s sitting up, throwing his arms around her and kissing her as passionately and intensely as she kissed him, and he takes a moment to savour the way her eyes go wide with surprise before kissing her neck, her shoulders, as much as he can before she recovers enough to react. His hands slide down over her back, her hips, until they reach her ass and he can’t help it, he just squeezes as hard as he can, just wants to grab as much of her as he can possible hold of her.

But she’s trained, and strong, and she easily breaks his grip and grabs his wrists, forcing him back down, pinning him down. She _glares_ down at him, right into his eyes, breathing right into his face, so close and yet so far. And he knows she liked it, knows she wants more of it, but Officer Beckett plays by the rules, and the rules say you don’t do a goddamn thing unless she tells you to do it.

“That,” she growls, voice thick and rough, “is assaulting a police officer, Mr. Castle.”

Oh no. He’s done it now.

“I’ll have to restrain you.”

Worth it. Totally worth it.

She reaches under the pillow, and produces the handcuffs. She’s a police officer, after all. What good police officer doesn’t make an arrest without handcuffs? 

(They’re black, and fur-lined, and to be honest in Castle’s mind look kind of ridiculous, and he teased her a bit when she got them by childishly complaining about her not using the real ones she carries with her on the job. But then she looked at him, and said “Castle, they’d _hurt_ you,” and there was something in her voice and her eyes that suggested that the idea of him getting hurt in any way would tear a piece of her soul out, and he didn’t have the heart to keep it going.)

She finds it easy to restrain him, pushing his hands between the bed frame and reaching down to slap the cuffs on. To be fair, he doesn’t resist; he has this coming, after all, and if he broke the rules, he should be punished for it. Besides which, in restraining him she brushes her breasts to his face, and he eagerly takes the opportunity while she’s distracted to flick out his tongue and tease one of her nipples. She glares back down, but he smiles defiantly at her; he’s already being cuffed, not like there’s anything else she can do.

“There,” she mutters as he’s securely restrained, looking down at him as he gazes back up at her as she repositions herself on top of him, innocently but utterly unrepentant, “ _now_ you’ll behave.”

Oh, you’d like to believe that, wouldn’t you Officer Beckett?

She licks her lips and begins to rock, back and forth, slowly at first but with increasing speed and force, her breathing starting to come in deep, quick pants. And he looks up at her, see how beautiful she is when they fuck or when they make love or whatever this is (he’s a writer and he can’t find the words, for the first time in his life he’s found something words aren’t enough for). And she’s so fucking beautiful it hurts, it’s _agony,_ and he wants to touch her again, but he _can’t_ this time, which makes it worse. 

His hands twitch, and he pulls the cuffs against the strong, sturdy bed-frame, which unless he turns into the Hulk soon, isn’t gonna give way. So he tries to settle for the way her hands feel on his chest and how tight she feels around him, but it’s not enough, fuck the procedure, he’s greedy and he wants more, he wants _all_ of her.

She starts to move quicker, and the hat slides off her head but he doesn’t think she even notices. She releases a noise, something between a gasp and a grunt and a whine, and he can tell by the way her eyes begin to flutter and the way her fingers clench around his chest that she’s close, but not close enough for him. “Castle,” she moans, “oh, _Castle_ ,” and there’s nothing of the iron-rigid control of Officer Beckett there, that’s Kate, pure, 100% Kate, and _god_ , if she’s close he’s even closer, he wants her so bad.

“Kate,” he breathes out, and he doesn’t care if he’s not allowed to speak, but it doesn’t matter because she looks back down at him, and the look in her eyes practically burns him alive.

“Rick, gonna, gonna...” she blurts out, probably not even aware she's speaking, and then words don’t matter, she arches her back and her mouth opens, but no sound comes out (she’s not a screamer, she says, never has been, but oh, he’s working on that), and that’s enough for him, he’s right there with her, together.

Like it should be.

It takes a few minutes for the fog to clear, but by the time he’s capable of rational thought she’s lying next to him, propped up on her elbow looking down at him while the other hand casually rests on his chest, and the warm smile on her face is pure Kate.

He loves this woman so much. Did he mention that? Because he can never mention it enough.

She quirks an eyebrow.

“‘Deadly weapon’. Really. _That’s_ what you went with.”

 “I was just trying to keep the theme going,” he protests weakly.

“You’re such a dork,” she says fondly.

“Hey, you’re the one who consulted the NYPD operations and procedures manual for sex games.”

“And don’t pretend you don’t love it.” 

She leans down, kisses him on the lips, and really, what would be the point in denying it?

“Gonna take a shower. Love you.”

And oh yeah, did he mention? Hearing her say that? That never gets old either.

She gets up, loosening the tie from her neck and throwing it aside, and he’s just admiring the view as she walks to the en-suite bathroom when he realizes she appears to have forgotten something. “Um, Kate?” he says. She looks back at him, and he waggles his hands, the handcuffs clanking against the headboard. “I think you need to...”

She turns around, studies him for a moment with her head tilted, hands on her hips.

“I dunno,” she says after a moment, “kind of like you like that. Think I might keep you there.”

“Okay, very funny, Kate.”

She glances innocently at him before turning around and resuming her walk to the bathroom, ignoring him entirely.

“Joke’s over,” he calls over hopefully.

As she disappears into the bathroom, she grins wickedly at him before closing the door.

“Kate?!”

(She does release him.

Eventually.)

 


End file.
